As Yesterday Calls
by Syberian Quest
Summary: As yesterday calls, I can't help but answer it. Even if no one else will.
1. Prologue

_This is the prologue of my newest multi-chap, a story that has been writing itself in the back of my mind for months now. It is the only other story besides WKMTC I am truly committing myself to at the moment, but I am truly intending to finish it. _

_It is written in present tense, a choppier style, but I feel as though it fits a child's mindset. In any case, I hope you do enjoy the first of many chapters to come. :)_

_xXxXx_

_**~Prologue~**_

_Nine hundred fifty-four… Nine hundred fifty-five… Nine hundred fifty-six…_

I think my nanny's forgotten me. We're supposed to be playing hide-and-seek, but I think she gave up without even bothering to try.

It wouldn't be the first time.

_Nine hundred fifty-seven… Nine hundred fifty-eight…_

Sometimes I wonder if she does this kind of thing because she's really a simple-minded American, as Uncle Ian always says, or because she's trying to get rid of me.

I think it's the latter.

_Nine hundred fifty-nine… Nine hundred sixty…_

She's not all that awful, though. At least she remembers my birthday. That's more than I can say about the last one. She didn't even mention it.

_Nine hundred sixty-one… Nine hundred sixty-two…_

Uncle Ian fired her after that, although I have a feeling her forgetfulness wasn't exactly the reason. I think it just threw him over the edge. Or perhaps it was my tears.

_Nine hundred sixty-three..._

I've never understood how it was possible for her to overlook something so obvious. When she didn't say anything, I simply thought she was very good at surprises. But after a while, when there was no cake, no presents…

He promised to make up for it, though. I knew it was only to cheer me up, but I intended to keep him to his word - I even made him pinky swear. So this year, for my _tenth _birthday, I finally get to do what I've never done before - spend my birthday with Uncle Ian.

For most children, birthdays are a celebration. For me, it's agony waiting to happen. I've often wondered why things always seem to go so wrong. All of my friends throw elaborate parties, spending thousands of dollars in a matter of hours for one lousy occasion. One even hired a travelling circus – elephant included. But for me, all I've ever asked for is a day where nothing goes wrong, a day where my nanny doesn't forget to buy a cake and my uncle actually stays home with me.

Because he never does.

Every birthday since I can remember, he disappears bright and early, sometimes to work and occasionally because of some "emergency" situation with the stock exchange, before coming back at approximately six o'clock in the evening. I've even started timing him.

I don't know why he does this. Every year, without fail, he finds some excuse to vanish into thin air. Even when my birthday falls on a Sunday, the one day of the week where he operates from his home office, he manages to spend it away from me. It's as though I have the plague for one day out of every year.

The only time I actually see him is when he gets back. Whenever he steps inside that gigantic mahogany door, he holds a beautiful present all wrapped up with a fancy bow and shiny wrapping paper. Then we sit down to whatever delicious meal the chef has whipped up for me before finding something special to do for entertainment. Well, more special than what we usually do before bedtime – play chess and read a story.

But tomorrow is going to be different. I'm determined of it. No nanny trying to entertain me until Uncle Ian gets home, no counting down the hours until he walks in that front door – just me and him. The two of us for one whole day doing whatever I want.

This may finally be the perfect birthday.

It's almost unrealistic how wonderful everything is. After all these years, I finally get my ultimate wish. Or the next best thing, anyway. Not even Uncle Ian could get me what I really want. If he could, I'm sure he would have done it ages ago. But unfortunately, I know mothers don't wrap well. Especially dead ones.

For as long as I can remember, she's always been that way. Dead. Without a photograph, I can't even picture her face in my mind.

Those photos are my lifeline.

Along with a few items that once belonged to her, they are the only things in this whole wide world I have to remember her by. Even then, it's barely anything. That's why I have to try so hard to keep my mum alive. It's difficult, though, because it almost seems as if the world – and Uncle Ian – are trying to forget that she ever even existed.

Or maybe… maybe they're trying to erase the fact that she never really died.

I don't know where these thoughts come from; I just keep having them. It makes no sense, but something inside of me refuses to believe that she's really dead. I've tried asking Uncle Ian about it, but whenever I do, he clams up. Either that, or he finds a convenient way of changing the subject.

I know he's hiding something.

I suppose I've always known it, though. Because everything, whether inside or out of our stony-walled mansion, is a complete mystery to me. Whenever I leave this place – a rare time at that – it's never alone. And even in here, in this place that I've spent my _whole _almost-ten years, I feel like an outsider. Maybe even a prisoner.

A prisoner. That's exactly what I am. They control what I know, where I go, who I talk to - everything about my life is tightly contained and regulated by Uncle Ian and the staff on his payroll. When I was little, I ignored it, probably because I was too afraid of what I might find if I started digging deep enough. But now that I'm turning _ten_ - double digits - I think it's high time that I get over that fear.

No more fraidy-cat Michelle.

_Nine hundred ninety-nine… One thousand._

That's it. Game over.

I win.


	2. Chapter 1

**~ Chapter 1 ~**

The closet is too small. Either that, or I've gotten too big.

As I pry open the door to my claustrophobic hiding space, my legs, entangled in a web of vacuum cleaner tubes, give way, and I trip, falling face-first onto the hardwood floor below.

Thankfully, no one is in the hallway.

I prop myself upward and begin the delicate task of evaluating my face, running my fingers along my bruised and battered features. The bridge of my nose is especially painful, and I just know that by tomorrow it will be a lovely shade of purple or green – the perfect birthday colours indeed. With a sigh, I heave myself off the floor and set off in pursuit of my ever-absent nanny. It's almost ironic – a nanny should be the one chasing after me, but that's hardly ever the case.

Winding my way through the maze I call my home, I guide myself towards her most likely location – the entertainment room. She practically lives there, despite the fact she has her own private quarters in a separate wing of the mansion. I swear she spends more time with the espresso machine than she does with me.

I scowl at the thought of her repulsive addiction to caffeine and feel a slight movement in the lower corner of my mouth. I pause and run my tongue along the edge of my teeth. One of them moves.

_Oh, perfect. _

I glance around the hallway and catch sight of a silver-framed mirror just down a ways, one of the many antiques that decorate our walls. The house itself is barely a decade, but with the ancient décor, it could easily pass for a haunted castle. It's also every bit as impersonal. Unlike all the other mansions I've been to, there are almost no photographs on our walls. No family portraits, no black and white snapshots of ancestors long dead – only the occasional framed and enlarged picture of myself, professionally taken at Christmases and holidays past. But besides those few sparks of humanity, everything about this place is cold and distant.

I peer into the shimmering glass with my mouth agape and wiggle my tooth with my tongue. My fall must have knocked it loose, although to my great delight, it's only a baby tooth. No unnecessary trips to the dentist, thank goodness.

It bends back and forth, loose enough that I attempt to twist it out with my fingers, but it doesn't budge. No matter. Within a few days the tooth fairy will be paying me a visit. And he's a _very _generous giver.

I close my mouth, but not before catching sight of my reflection. Cringing, I quickly look away. That stupid pink bow Nina made me wear is as hideous as ever, but it's not the worst thing about what I see. Those almond-shaped, multi-coloured eyes are hooded with a quiet reserve that I despise, while my caramel features are delicate and refined, yet in no way outstanding. Something about that isolated look and those melting-pot characteristics is just utterly despicable to me. My eyes - bluish-grey in the dark, brilliant green with black specks and a yellowish outline in the sun, while still remaining an amber hue throughout it all – are especially revolting. Uncle Ian tells me they're like a rainbow, but I disagree. To me, they're nothing more than a distorted traffic signal, with blue replacing red, that can't quite make up its mind about what colour it wants to be. _Nothing _about me is definite; that's what is so unbearable. I am neither one thing nor another, neither a Kabra nor an outsider. And that's all I've ever wanted to be, a Kabra – and not just a _half_-Kabra. But when I look in the mirror, it's not my mother I see. Only the faintest traces of her remain.

Tearing myself away from the mirror in disgust, I force myself to focus on searching for Nina. It's rather embarrassing when I think this way. People tell me that I do it far too often and that it makes me seem much too old for my age. Only Uncle Ian doesn't give me funny looks when I tell him my thoughts and use big words that my friends can't even pronounce. Strangely, though, that might be the one thing I _shouldn't _be embarrassed about. Apparently, my mum was always much smarter than all the children her age. So was Uncle Ian, which means it shouldn't be such a surprise that I am too. I suppose others just don't understand the genius of the Kabras.

I just hope their stupidity doesn't rub off on me.

The empty halls echo with the clacking of my shiny white dress shoes – to my great annoyance – and I slow my pace to let the sound fade away. For as much as I enjoy my dresses and skirts, I hate all the extra frills and formalities Nina insists I add. She makes me feel like a painted up china doll, _especially _with these ugly, outdated antiques on my feet.

Suddenly, a distant whirring sound catches my ears, and I know I have found Nina.

The espresso machine never lies.

I tiptoe towards the closest open door and peak inside. Despite the clacking of my shoes, she hasn't heard me over the noise. I roll my eyes. It's no wonder she isn't married. She and espressos live very happily together as it is.

I take a step forward just as the machine turns off and glare at her back. The daggers in my vision have no effect – unfortunately.

"You lost."

She startles and whirls around, her carrot-red hair flipping over her shoulder and her face registering a genuine look of surprise. "Michelle – there you are! I was just about to come looking for you."

_Of course._

I place my hands on my hips and attempt my best Kabra scowl, the infamous look I've seen Uncle Ian use countless times, leaving petty – and powerful – businessmen frozen in their tracks. Unfortunately, however, it never seems to have quite the same effect on me.

Ignoring my look of disgust entirely, she continues, oblivious to the fact that she abandoned me alone in a cleaning closet with spiders and dust mites for practically an eternity.

"I was afraid I'd have to go hunting all over the house for you. Thank goodness I didn't." She glances over at the giant grandfather clock leaning against the far wall. "You're going to be late enough as it is for Alicia's tea party."

The words register, but my face remains twisted in my unsuccessful Kabra scowl.

She sighs. "Oh, Michelle, your bow is all crooked!" She takes a step forward and reaches to straighten it. "That's no way to show up at Alicia's party – or anywhere else for that matter."

I remain still under her touch, but not without managing to glare up at her as she fiddles with that wretched _thing _on my head.

"There." She steps back and admires her work. "Perfect." She reaches down and touches my nose with her index finger. "Cute as a button."

My scowl deepens.

Somehow I find it hard to imagine anyone ever doing that to my mum when she was my age. And _definitely _not my uncle. I'm probably the only Kabra who has ever been belittled while scowling. It's just plain insulting.

Nina grabs my hand and begins to drag me out of the game room. "Come. And stop scowling – you look like your uncle."

My scowl transforms into a smile.

"Although," she continues, more to herself than to me, "I can't say he looks half bad even _with _the scowl."

The scowl returns.

While Nina may have an ongoing obsession with espressos, her loyalties are questionable. And just like all my previous nannies before her, she has a bit an… _infatuation _with my uncle. Every single female within a five-mile radius does.

I suppose it's rather inevitable, with Uncle Ian being single and all, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Rich, smart, not to mention jaw-droppingly handsome – he's like catnip for women. But unlike cats, they're every bit as annoying as flies. Thankfully, however, Uncle Ian pays them about the same amount of attention. He doesn't date, has never been married – he barely even acknowledges their existence unless they work for him. Even then, they practically need to stage a heart attack before he gives them a second glance. It's a bit odd when I think about it, but I'm not about to complain. I like it this way – just me and him.

Unfortunately, though, Nina doesn't seem to understand this very simple concept. I'm hoping that sooner or later she'll get the message.

Shaking herself out of that all-too familiar Uncle Ian-dream daze, she gives my arm a tug. "Come along, Michelle. I'm sure they have espressos at the Knights' house."

I roll my eyes but remain silent as she drags me out of the brightly-painted room and forces me down the hall. Her pace is twice as fast as mine, and I'm forced to break into an unladylike jog in order to keep up.

"Can we slow down, Nina?" I pant, giving her a pleading look as I pull back my arm. It's about to fall off with her incessant yanking.

She glances back at me and slows. "Oh, sure. Just… hurry, okay?"

I nod and pull my arm protectively to my chest. Knowing her, she'll have it back in her grasp within the next sixty seconds.

We proceed in silence, Nina for once not having anything to say. I enjoy the peace and quiet (Nina's constant chit-chat simply turns into gong clanging, given enough time), but I can't stand clacking of my shoes. The continual echoing sends shivers down my spine.

"Is Mr. Robson meeting us with the limousine?" I ask, desperate to break the silence. But I'm also curious. Mr. Robson always has such a nice smile and happy laugh; he's my favourite of all the hired help.

Putting a hand on my shoulder, she begins to propel me towards the open front door, giving a brief nod to the sharply-dressed butler holding it open. "Yup. You think there's any_ better_ driver in London?" She flashes me a teasing grin, and I crack a smile.

While Nina may be genuine basket case (or airhead_, _as I believe the Americans say), I have to admit that she's not all _that_ bad. We even have a few things in common. Whether that's a good thing or not, though, I'm not entirely sure.

The remnants of a misty England morn greet us outside, although a few rays of sunshine manage to peak through. This entire week has been a bit drearier than usual, which means that our blossoming garden always seem a bit out of place. Uncle Ian hired dozens of hired help to beautify the manicured lawns and imported plants, but it's really Mr. Robson who gives it that little touch of magic. He was hired as a limousine drive, although landscaping is his hidden talent. I don't think Uncle Ian even pays him to do it; it's just his off-work hobby.

But as much as I want to enjoy the smells and sounds of the great outdoors, I know this is not the time. Nina has already begun forcing me down the stairs, giving me little think about where I'm putting my feet. If I fall and break my neck, then it will undoubtedly be _her _fault in a court of law.

I keep my eyes pasted on the sidewalk, knowing I won't be safe until my feet finally touch the ground. Nina's long legs fly down the steps two at a time, but my short nylon-covered ones barely touch them at all. Not quite close enough to touch the handrail, I totter precariously on each step, losing my balance more than once, but as I near the bottom, two strong arms reach out to steady me.

"You doing all right there, little lady?"

My knees are still a little wobbly from my pre-flight adventure, but I give myself a once over and flash Mr. Robson a big smile. "Yes, thank you."

His sky-blue eyes twinkle mischievously. "Being a proper little lady now, are we?"

I give a solemn nod. "Yes, sir."

"Well, then," he responds, "it appears I'll have to start learning a thing or two from you." He reaches up and tips his chauffeur cap all prim and proper like, just like all my friends' chauffeurs do, but his eyes still dance light-heartedly, crinkles forming at the edges, reminding me why he always gets the part of Old Saint Nicholas at Christmas time.

I giggle slightly at the thought of Mr. Robson all dressed up in a great fat man's suit with an ugly, old fake beard on his face and quickly cover my mouth to keep him from hearing. Christmas is, after all, still months away. It's only June.

"The flowers look beautiful," Nina cuts in, her back to us as she surveys the early summer flowers.

Mr. Robson's face instantly lights up. "Why, thank you, Ms. Richards. The irises have just gotten out, and I expect the water lilies any day now. I'm hoping for an especially good year." He sends me a wink as he begins to pry open the limousine's back door. "And with any luck, I'll have some extra special ones for a certain little lady's big day, hmm?"

"Oh, that's right!" Nina remarks as she begins to slide into the back seat. "It's your birthday tomorrow. Imagine that! Almost nine-"

"Ten."

"Almost ten years old!"

I frown but catch Mr. Robson's eye as he silently mouths something to me.

_She remembers._

I narrow my eyes and wordlessly slide in beside Nina. It's true, she remembers, but just barely. And she doesn't even know my age. Then again, she doesn't remember much of anything, so maybe I should take it as a compliment that she knows anything about me at all.

"So, Michelle, if you're turning nine-"

"Ten."

"_Ten_, then how old does that make your uncle?"

I roll my eyes and turn to stare out my tinted window. I was wrong. Nina has an _excellent _memory when it has anything to do with coffee or Uncle Ian.

"I don't know," I respond irritably, desperately hoping that Mr. Robson will get into the driver's seat soon so she'll stop asking me questions. "His thirties, I suppose."

"Mid or late?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

The driver's door clicks open, and Nina immediately falls silent. Mr. Robson starts the engine, and we circle the paved roundabout, passing the little island of flowers and bubbling fountain before driving through the automatic gates with the fancy "K" insignia.

Beside me, Nina lets out a sigh. "Oh, Michelle, look at your dress."

I glance down and catch sight of several dark brown stains splattered across my sea foam- green dress, a piece of cobweb still stuck to my legs. Shooting her a dirty look, I brush away the filth as best I can. This is what comes of crouching in a closet. Not that she would know.

"Ah, well, I guess we can't exactly go back now. " She peeks out the back window for a long moment, watching as the mansion disappears out of view. "Say, Michelle," she starts again, "what do you want for your birthday?"

"A stuffed animal." My response is automatic; no matter what I say, I know she'll get me another dreadful bow.

"Okay, then. So, what are your favourite flowers?"

I think for a moment. "Roses."

"Oh, I love those too!" She pauses and peeks at the back of Mr. Robson's head. "And your uncle? What are his favourite?"

I glance up and lock gazes with Mr. Robson's in the rearview mirror. Quickly looking away, I turn back to face Nina.

"Carnations."

He hates carnations.

We ride in silence for the rest of the trip, which is all the more pleasant for me. I love watching the rolling hills and crumbling manors give way to busy city streets. It's a rare treat getting to leave my mansion.

Easily winding past the height of London traffic, we make it to the Knights' in record time. Their gate, bearing an identical "K" to our own, swings wide open, and we are instantly greeted by a flood of identical limos all waiting for a place to park. Ours is the only one that doesn't blend in because of its vintage look. Uncle Ian keeps a whole garage full of ones like it from back when he was young – all in tip-top shape of course.

"Why don't I let you ladies off right here? It might be faster that – " A man in a suit begins to frantically wave us through. "Ah, never mind." Mr. Robson pats the steering wheel affectionately. "This darlin' sure knows how to make an entrance. It appears Mr. Kabra was right in keeping these old things around."

It's true. No one ever misses Ian Kabra in one of his limousines. Or me, for that matter.

The dressed-up man, one of the many butlers, escorts me and Nina from the limo to the foyer where numerous other household staff mill about like ants. Apparently more than Alicia's tea party is taking place today.

Everywhere I look, everything is big and bright and flashy. _Austentashious_, I think. That's what Uncle Ian called it once. Our house isn't quite so austentashious, except for our garden, and it still looks better. No one can beat Mr. Robson.

The butler guides us to Alicia's nanny and leaves us in her very capable hands. Casting a critical eye on Nina with her wrinkled grey skirt and coffee-stained blouse before shooting a very pointed look at the clock, which indicates that we are more than fifteen minutes late, she pastes on a sticky-sweet smile, one that makes her look rather gassy.

"The espresso machine is that way, Ms. Richards. Feel free to excuse yourself. I will ensure Michelle and the girls are well attended to."

Nina frowns at the woman's condescending tone, but one glance at the woman's pinched and puckered face quickly settles her decision.

"I'll, uh, be back for you when it's over, 'kay, Michelle?" She barely waits for my nod before disappearing after her one true love.

Unlike Nina, this woman is a professional and knows exactly what she's doing - she's not someone I'd ever like to upset. But despite her sharp features and grizzled grey hair pulled tightly into a bun, I've always wanted a nanny as responsible as her. Some of my friends even have _grandmotherly _nannies. But without a doubt, they're all professionals. All except Nina, that is, something I've never understood. _None _of my nannies have been professionals, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense since Uncle Ian is a whole lot richer than all my friends' fathers. I would think he would _want _an old, married woman looking after me, rather than some young college girl with only a half a brain to show. I'm positive it has something to do with all the other strange parts of my life; it's only one more piece to the puzzle.

Mrs. Walker leads me into Alicia's room, but I don't need the assistance. Even from the outside, her little corner of the world has princesses and sparkles all over her doorway, not to mention an "Alicia's Room – Keep Out" sign. I'd be blind to miss it.

I step onto the plush pink carpet, and six pairs of eyes instantly meet mine. I look down at my pale-white shoes in embarrassment.

"Girls, as I'm sure you've noticed, Michelle is finally here, and I expect you to be courteous and polite young ladies, understood?"

Six heads nod.

"Good. And if you need anything, call for Lucy. She will attend to all of your needs."

I take a few hesitant steps towards the one remaining empty seat and quickly sit down while the other girls are still listening to Mrs. Walker. I continue to keep my eyes lowered as she disappears down the hallway.

Immediately, however, I can feel six pairs of eyes staring at me, and I continue to bore a hole in the carpet with my stare.

"Well, well, Michelle. You finally decided to show up."

I grind my teeth together at the sound of Alicia's obnoxiously whiny voice, but force myself to meet her gaze.

"Of course, Alicia. I wouldn't _dream _of missing one of your tea parties." The sick sweetness of my voice is nauseating even to me.

Alicia narrows her eyes accusingly. "You could have at least shown up on time then."

I shrug helplessly. "Blame Nina."

Alicia gives an overly-dramatic sigh. "Don't you always?"

A touch of pink flushes my cheeks, and I look down at my shoes again. Somehow Alicia always makes me look stupid.

"Anyways," she continues, flipping her long brown locks over her shoulder, "I was just about to show everyone what my daddy got for me." Her eyes flash triumphantly. "You're all going to be _so _jealous."

I roll my eyes. Aren't we always?

She stands up and walks towards her closet, which in actuality is more like a mini-shopping mall. We wait expectantly, or in my case, pure dread, as she descends upon her house of clothing. After several moments, she reemerges, and all of our eyes widen in amazement.

Somehow in that short amount of time, she has managed to transform from her regular old baby-blue sequined designer dress into this, probably one of the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen. It's gorgeous, with golden-yellow fabric, long, layered tresses, and a neckline I know Uncle Ian would never let me wear. In fact, it sort of looks like –

"Belle!" Holly, the blonde on my left exclaims. "It's Belle!"

She's right. Even I, someone who barely watches any television, knows that. After all Belle _is _my favourite princess.

"Oh, I've seen a dress like that before!" Joanne remarks. "One of my cousins got one like it from the Disney store." She bites her lip. "I've never actually been to one, but-"

"This isn't from that cheap dump," Alicia interrupts. "This is _handmade _with all-imported silk – it's one of a kind. Daddy would only get me the finest." She waves us towards her. "Come and see for yourself."

All the girls immediately flock around her, and she holds up a hand to keep them from getting too close.

"Don't touch. Just admire it."

I roll my eyes and watch in disgust as the girls "ooh" and "aah" over the fine frills and all the other austentashious things about it. Truth is, though, I can't help feeling a little envious. The dress _is _beautiful.

"Oh, and I almost forgot the best part," Alicia suddenly says, a small smug smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

All eyes are instantly fastened on her.

"Daddy got me _all _the princess dresses."

Five faces light up like Christmas bulbs.

"Really?" Sophia gasps. "Can we see them?"

Alicia nods her head. "Mmm-hmm. And you know, if you ask nicely enough, I might just let you try them on. Then we could have a princess tea party."

"I call Cinderella!" Holly blurts out.

Alicia eyes Holly's blonde, blue-eyed form critically. "All right. You look enough like her." She gives us all a stern glare. "But I'm Belle."

Pity. With her brown hair and eyes, she definitely looks the part, although she's anything but matching in personality.

"Come," Alicia orders, directing us towards her closet. "I'll decide who gets to be who after I show you the outfits."

She guides us into her mini-fashion center, and I can't help feeling a little overwhelmed with all the clothes. A simple push of a button on her part would instantly reveal a wall of shoes or a rotating clothes rack. It also makes my own walk-in closet pale in comparison.

Suddenly, I catch sight of a wall lined with dresses sparkling and shimmering and every bit as beautiful as the first. All the mouths around me drop to the floor.

"Here," Alicia says, pulling off the blue Cinderella dress to an open-mouthed Holly. "But don't rip it, tear it, sneeze on it, cough on it-"

"We get the idea," I cut in sourly.

She shoots me a pointed glare. "Just don't ruin it, Holly, or your daddy will be hearing from my lawyer."

Holly gives a little gulp and nods vigorously. Since her father is in partnership with Mr. Knight, the last thing he would ever want to do is make the man upset. Mr. England's fortune depends on Alicia's father.

Alicia turns and reaches up for the next dress. "Joanne, you can be Snow White. You're the only one with black hair."

I have black hair, too, but apparently I don't count.

Joanne frowns slightly as she takes the dress from Alicia. "Do I have to wear that collar?"

"Yes!" Alicia snaps. "You're Snow White."

Joanne scowls in annoyance but reluctantly accepts the blue and yellow gown. Both she and her father are the only ones besides us Kabras who don't bow down at the Knights' feet, and I'm not sure how, but they always seem to get away with it.

"Anastasia, you can be Ariel, and Sophia is Sleeping Beauty."

The sole redhead of the group compliantly takes the blue-green dress, although it clashes terribly with her freckled complexion, while Sophia eagerly grasps her pink one. It's a bit of a shame it's not blue, though; I always preferred Sleeping Beauty's blue one.

Noting that everyone else besides me has already been given a dress, I decide to speak up. "Can I be Jasmine, Alicia? I look like her."

Alicia glances at me condescendingly. "Not really. Besides, Daddy wouldn't let me get that one."

"Why not?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I don't know. When I asked him, all he said was, 'I will not have my nine-year-old daughter baring her midriff!'" She rolls her eyes. "Whatever that means."

I barely contain a snicker.

"So," she continues, "since I only have six dresses, I guess you'll just have to be an ugly step-sister."

"What?" I burst out. "I thought you had _all _the dresses."

"_Almost _all. I'm not getting Jasmine's, and Rapunzel's and Tiana's aren't done yet."

I fold my arms across my chest. "Fine. I'll just be Jasmine _without _the dress." I doubt I'd be allowed to bare my midriff anyway.

Alicia shrugs. "Suit yourself." She turns to the others. "Now go and change so we can get started. Oh, and Michelle," she suddenly remembers to add, "you can wait outside."

I turn on my heel and step back outside. Anywhere without Alicia is a much better place, so I'm not at all upset to be excluded. Besides, I have the strangest fascination with her room– something about it is simply enchanting – so I don't mind the chance to enjoy it alone.

It's definitely not the decor– the bright pink _everything _is rather blinding – but this unexplainable feeling always draws me to it. There's some memory buried in the back of my mind that always tickles my brain when I'm here, trying desperately hard to be remembered. In fact, the Knight's entire mansion intrigues me. Especially the gate. It can't be a coincidence that their insignia is exactly identical to ours.

I seat myself against the windowsill and stare outward. The view is a whole lot better than the alternative: magenta bedspreads and walls decorated with Parisian fashion models. This place is also extra familiar; it's the one part of her room that sends my senses into overdrive.

Outside, the trees are blowing _nominously_, and I shiver a little, feeling the chill even though I'm still indoors. Summer has gotten off to a late start this year.

It's going to be a long season.

A screech suddenly pierces the air, and I jump involuntarily, even though I know it's only one of the animals in the Knights' zoo. I've been there once or twice; it's actually one of the few things they have I wish I had too.

I press my face close against the window and try to catch a glimpse of the zoo's stone walls and maybe, if I'm lucky, whatever made that noise. I'm almost positive it's either their spider monkey or a Scarlet Macaw; I'm not sure which one.

It's still quite cloudy outside and my breath is fogging up the window, so I scrunch my face even closer to it. I crane my neck a little to the left, trying to see past those stupid tree branches blocking my view, when something catches my eye. It's in the window's frame, a fine lettering engraved along the side, and I catch my breath in surprise.

Reaching out, I gently trace the inscription to ensure that my eyes are not deceiving me.

_K_… _A_… _B… R… A_

For sure, there's no doubt about it. My last name is engraved in Alicia's window. I've found it hidden in plenty of obscure places, but what on earth is it doing here?

"We're reeeeady!"

I whirl around to see six "princesses" in all their glimmering glory emerging from the closet laughing and giggling as if they've just heard a secret that they're not about to share.

Alicia, who is laughing right along with them, suddenly catches sight of me and scowls. "Michelle, why are you sitting on my windowsill? I have chairs, you kno-"

"Why is my last name on your windowsill?"

She blinks. "What?"

"My last name," I repeat. "It's engraved on your window frame."

Her perfect little eyebrows narrow. "I don't think so. You must be imagining things."

"I think I can recognize my name when I see it," I retort sourly.

She shrugs. "Maybe you can, and maybe you can't."

I purse my lips to keep me from saying something I'll regret.

She waltzes over to her little tea party table and seats herself, neatly tucking her yellow frills underneath of her before motioning for us to follow. "I know what you're doing, Michelle. You're just jealous."

I freeze in my tracks. "Of what?"

She gives me a knowing look, one that makes me feel like landing her one right between the eyes. "Of me, of my family, of my house. Making up tales is just your way of getting attention."

"I'm not making it up!" I huff, crossing my arms across my chest. "Go and see for yourself." I blow at a wisp of my bangs, vainly attempting to control my temper. "And I'm _not _jealous."

"Sure you are," she responds carelessly. "You can't stand the fact that my daddy is so successful."

I let out a laugh. "Why on earth would I care? My uncle's _ten _times more successful than your father."

"He's not your daddy, though. He's just your uncle."

Inwardly, I recoil. I don't think she realizes it, but she's struck a nerve. A very painful one. Outwardly, though, I keep an expressionless face. Showing emotions is not the Kabra way, although, if she keeps this up, I'm afraid I won't be able to contain my fury much longer. The five faces staring at me expectantly help a little, though. I refuse to give them a show.

Alicia flashes me a malicious smile. "I bet you don't even know who your father is."

She's right - not that I'd ever admit it.

I once mustered up the courage to ask Uncle Ian about it, dared to ask who my father is; he simply put down his newspaper and Mariage Frères tea before replying.

"A low-down, good for nothing git."

Coming from him, that could mean just about anyone.

With a deep breath, I carefully formulate my counterattack. One false word on my part could completely blow it; a cool head and clear mind are absolutely essential. "It doesn't matter who my father is. As the sole living relation of the head of the Kabra estate, upon his unfortunate demise, I would so happen to be entitled to the entirety of his fortune and any other assets in addition."

Alicia stares blankly at me, and I roll my eyes.

"It means I get all my uncle's money when he dies."

A look of understanding passes over her face, quickly to be replaced by a haughty confidence. "What makes you think you'll get a cent? Have you ever seen his will?"

I smirk. "Don't have to. He's not married, doesn't have any children; I'm the only family he has. What is he going to do – let the hired help inherit it all?"

I have absolutely no desire to ever see Uncle Ian die, so it feel s a bit wrong to talk about all this, but right now, it's my only leverage - something quite pathetic, really. My entire social status depends on how rich my uncle is and whether or not I'm his heir.

"Well," Holly's timid voice speaks up from the side, "he _could _still get married, you know."

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. "I don't see why he would. All the women chasing after him are idiots." My voice doesn't come out as confident as I had hoped.

"Actually," Anastasia says, "my mother heard from her cousin who heard from a guest at one of her dinners, and she said that Miss Kate Crenshaw fancies your uncle." She flashes me an apologetic smile. "And she's definitely not an idiot. She's very pretty, not to mention _fabulously _wealthy. Half of London's women are plotting to get rid of her, and the other half are planning to set the two of them up."

I swallow hard. The very thought of Uncle Ian ever getting married gives me an unpleasant feeling, somewhat like indigestion, although much more unpleasant.

It has nothing to do with remaining his only heir.

"Still," I counter, attempting to swallow the bile rising in my throat, "he has absolutely no reason to actually _marry _her."

Alicia raises in an eyebrow. "He's rich and single; isn't that reason enough?"

Jane Eyre's opening line of _Pride and Prejudice _instantly enters my mind, but I quickly shove it away. I don't know where she got her facts from, but they're terribly inaccurate. And a rich man being in want of a wife can't be a _universal _truth; I definitely don't believe it, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm a part of this universe.

"All men and women get married; it's just the way things are done," Alicia continues, oblivious to my deepening scowl. "It's only natural, and your uncle is no exception." She suddenly pauses, her face forming that ever-rare look which signifies the event of a truly profound thought actually crossing her mostly-empty brain. "Unless…"

"Unless?"

"Unless he's not human, that is."

I stare at her quizzically. "What do mean?"

"Well," she starts, using that same voice she saves for the juiciest of gossip, "I don't want to start anything-"

_Of course you don't._

"- but my brother had some friends over last night, and they watched that brand-new movie that just came out, Evolution or Revolvution or something along those lines, where humans created robots so smart that they somehow came to life and took over the world!"

"Oh, I heard about that one!" Holly exclaims. "My brother was at that party; I bet he'll have nightmares for weeks." She rolls her eyes. "He's such a baby about scary movies. Thank goodness we're taking separate limos home."

"Hey, wasn't Arnold Schwarzenagger in that movie?" Sophia asks curiously.

"No," Alicia responds, shaking her head. "That was a different one. In this one, the human race is dying off, but the government doesn't want people to know it, so they create robots that look and act just like humans to replace the dying humans –" She takes a deep breath. "- but then these robots end up being so smart that they become self aware and start to make more and more of themselves until they take over the world and get rid of the government."

I give her an incredulous stare. "And this says what exactly about my uncle?" The entire "robots taking of the world" thing is so terribly cliché; I might start laughing if she accuses Uncle Ian of being one.

"Well," Alicia begins, taking another deep breath, "the robots in that movie didn't look like robots at all. They looked exactly like humans."

"Most humans look like humans."

"Well, _duh_. But while it was basically impossible to tell them apart from humans, they still acted differently. They always looked perfect – their hair was never, ever messy, and they had flawless skin –they also hardly ever made any mistakes. They never really showed emotions, and – get this – they never got married, unless of course, the government programmed them to just so people wouldn't get suspicious."

I stare blankly at her. "And because of that you think my uncle is a robot?"

"Just think about it, Michelle. Have you ever seen your uncle without his hair perfectly in place? Have you ever seen him when he's not serious? Does he ever do stupid little things like spill his tea?"

My brow furrows as I wrack my brain for any particular memories that stand out. And strangely enough, I can't find any. "Well," I begin hesitantly, not wanting to fan the flame Alicia has started, "not really. But then," I am quick to add, "I don't see him before he goes to work, when he fixes his hair and gets ready. I couldn't know about that. And he's not always so serious – not with me anyway. Plus, he still does things like spill his tea sometimes. Just… not very often."

Alicia smiles. "See? The robots were just like that – too good to be true, but still human enough that people didn't get suspicious."

Holly lets out a gasp. "You're right, Alicia! Just yesterday my daddy was saying how Mr. Kabra always seems to know exactly what's going to happen to the stock market; Daddy even said it's 'inhuman.' Mr. Kabra _is _too good to be true."

My mouth drops open. "You must be joking! My uncle is just smarter than all your fathers, is all."

Alicia shakes her head, mock pity playing across her face. "Poor Michelle. Unable to accept the truth."

Open-mouthed, I stare helplessly at the other girls. Only Joanne flashes me an "I don't believe it, either" look.

"I believe you, Alicia," Sophia pipes up. She gives a little shiver. "Mr. Kabra scares me."

Anastasia nods in agreement. "Me too. He always has this expression on his face that just – " She shivers a little also. "It's like he knows exactly what I'm thinking."

"He reads minds!" Holly gasps. She glances at Alicia. "Robots can do that too, right?"

Joanne shoots me an irritated look, her face reflecting exactly what I'm thinking.

"I don't know," Alicia responds, picking up her fine china tea cup and daintily pressing it to her lips. "But I bet some can."

"Wait!" I cry out, suddenly thunderstruck by something I should have thought of long before. "I know how to prove my uncle's not a robot." Several eyebrows rise questioningly. "Look, right here, on his forearm, he has a really long scar." I point to the exact same spot on my arm and smile victoriously. "And robots don't have scars."

But Alicia remains unfazed. "Of course they do. The government creates them with all with unique scars and birthmarks to avoid suspicion. They're sneaky that way."

My face falls. I can hardly believe that I'm even having this conversation in the first place, but somehow I can't manage to prove my uncle's humanness. If it was me, then it would be easy, but-

"Wait. If my uncle's a robot, then how can I be related to him? I'm not a robot."

The girls fall silent, suddenly at a loss as to how to respond. Because it's obvious _I'm _not a robot. I'm not nearly perfect enough.

"Well, uh, maybe he's not actually related to you," Anastasia proposes. "Maybe you were switched at birth and –"

"No," I cut in, pleased to have finally gained the upper hand. "I look too much like him and his sister. We're definitely related."

I may not be a pure-blooded Kabra, but not even someone like Alicia can deny that I look at least a _little _like them. Just the amber in my eyes is enough.

"Maybe he's not actually the _real_ Ian Kabra," Holly proposes. "Maybe the government switched the real one for a robot fake."

I shake my head. "Definitely not. I've seen pictures and footage of my uncle from when he was much younger; he's almost exactly the same."

The crestfallen faces before me are enough to know I've won the battle; my only worry is how Alicia will react. Knowing her, she won't be pleased to have her latest scandal theory torn to shreds.

Lowering her fine white china and crossing one leg over the other, she leans forward in my direction just a smidge. "You're right, Michelle."

My eyes widen. Did Alicia actually say that, or am I just hearing things?

She leans back again and flashes me a chilling smile. "I suppose I should have known it all along, really. Your uncle couldn't possibly be a robot; he's a Kabra, just like you. And all Kabras come from the same place."

I prepare myself for the devastating blow; where she's going with this can't possibly be good.

Her malicious grin magnifies. "My daddy told me you're all descended from a penniless peasant, a flea-ridden _bagbond_."

"Eew!" Sophia squeals, pulling away from the table. "Fleas?"

"Yes," Alicia affirms, her eyes widening in mock horror. "And he grew up living in stinky streets with rats and mice and –"

"What's a _bagbond_?"

With great irritation, Alicia turns to Joanne, distraught over having her scandalous tale interrupted. "It's like a beggar. You know, a _tramp_."

"It's _vagabond_," I indignantly correct her. "And I am _not _descended from a flea-ridden tramp."

Alicia wrinkles her nose disdainfully. "Obviously you don't know much about your family history, Michelle. The Kabras are nothing more than a bunch of worthless peasant who managed to sneak their way into power." She gives a very pointed stare at the smudges on my dress. "And apparently, the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree. My family, on the other hand," she sniffs, "are direct descendants of the original Duke of Cambridge."

"I thought they were knights," Joanne cuts in, apparently oblivious to Alicia's increasing annoyance.

"That too," Alicia responds through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, I see my entrance, my way of turning the tables. For once, maybe I don't have to always be on the defensive.

"Alicia, the original Duke of Cambridge died in infancy; he never had any children."

I am greatly pleasured to watch her face turn three shades paler; I simply cannot resist adding the icing on the cake.

"It looks to me like _you're _the jealous one."

She whirls on me, maintaining her lady-like posture and elegance, but her eyes hold a new-found vengeance. And suddenly, I am very, very sorry for poking the bear with a stick.

"I pity your uncle, Michelle. Stuck with you. It's a wonder he's put up with you all these years – it must be an unbearable burden. After all, not even your own mother cared enough t-"

My fists connect with her face before she can finish.

Her scream pierces the air, shrill and penetrating, but it still does not register in my mind what I have just done until that first trickle of blood begins to pool under her nose. And even then, there is nothing to stop me; all reason has left me. It couldn't stop me if it tried.

Manners never worked, logic never helped, but finally, I am making her pay for every cruel name she ever called me, every spiteful comment she ever made.

And it feels _good_.

I can hear screaming from all around me, bodies colliding with mine, but it all seems distant. Nothing but Alicia and my fists matter.

"Imbecile! Anacoluthon! Lily-livered chauvinist!" I shout defiantly, watching her wither under my fury.

Suddenly, strong hands yank me backwards, pulling me roughly to my feet. I lunge determinedly back towards Alicia's whimpering form, one thought racing through my mind, but these same hands hold me firmly away from her.

_She did care. I'll show you. She did care. I'll show everyone. _

Nina abruptly appears in the doorway, a look of horror instantly spreading across her spray-tanned face, and everything begins to sink in.

I just beat up Alicia.

Her room is a mess, the mahogany table and chairs fallen to their sides, the tea and English muffins scattered and staining the floor, and worst of all, Alicia's beautiful chiffon gown tattered and torn. I feel a sudden splash of pleasure seeing that yellow dress in tatters and Alicia crying helplessly on the floor, but it is immediately replaced by a feeling of horror. Pure, unrelenting horror.

_What have I done?_

The other girls are also whimpering pathetically, all except Joanne, who is staring at me open-mouthed, and most of them have tears in their own dresses. Sophia is huddled against the far wall, but the others look almost as battered and bruised as Alicia. They must have gotten involved, but I can't remember a thing.

"Michelle!" Nina gasps, carefully stepping around Alicia's crumpled form. "What did you _do_?"

I resort to dejectedly staring at the floor. I can't even face looking Nina in the eye.

I suddenly notice Mrs. Walker and several other women milling about the room. Some are comforting the girls, and others are cleaning up the mess. All of them ignore me.

"Sh-she started it," Alicia sniffles, struggling to get to her feat while pointing an accusatory finger at me. "She just jumped at me out of nowhere and started hitting me and calling me names." A trickle of blood runs down her nose, and Mrs. Walker wipes it away with a handkerchief. "I don't have to see her anymore, do I?"

"No, of course not, dear," the woman replies soothingly, shooting me and Nina a dirty look.

"Michelle, did you really do all this?" Nina asks again, her voice filled with disbelief.

I nod slowly, still refusing to meet her eyes. I must have done this, beat Alicia up and torn apart her room, but I'm having a hard time taking it all in. Never in my life have I _ever _done anything even _remotely _close to this – the guilt alone is enough to eat me alive.

Maybe there was a reason my mother left me after all.

"Is-is there anything we can do?" Nina inquires hesitantly. I think she's still in shock over the mess – the mess that _I _created.

Mrs. Walker doesn't look up. "You've done enough."

Nina grabs my hand and squeezes – hard. This time, though, I don't have the energy to pull away. "Come on, Michelle," she tells me. "Let's go."

We cut across the carnage and step through the door.

"The exit is at the bottom of the staircase," Mrs. Walker curtly informs us just before we disappear.

Nina nods and pulls me after her as we pass down the tiled hallway. Everywhere I look, people seem to be staring at us; Alicia's screams were probably much louder than I originally thought. I stare down at my shoes, avoiding anyone and everyone's gaze. No one ever liked me here before; now they'll hate me more than ever.

I see several teenage boys at the bottom of the staircase watching me and snickering among themselves.

"Looks like the old Cobra's niece really gave it to your sister good, Jon. I wonder how long she'll be crying about it?"

Ignoring them, I keep my eyes firmly pasted to the ground, my eyes riveted on the whitish-peach marble tile. Up ahead, the door is already wide open for us, and I eagerly step beyond it, but not without catching one more side remark, this one particularly cutting.

"It figures. The girl's just like Natalie, always throwing a magnificent temper tantrum and the likes."

But for once, I don't appreciate the comparison. Being like Natalie has always been my greatest ambition, but this is one thing I don't care to imitate.

Somehow, Mr. Robson already has the limousine waiting outside, and he stands silently beside it, waiting for us to get in. I'm sure his face is compassionate, as always, but I don't intend to find out. The shame is too great to look _anyone _in the eye, let alone kindly Mr. Robson.

"A-are you going to tell Uncle Ian?" I whisper hoarsely as the limo door slams shut, the words barely catching my own ears.

Nina glances down at me sympathetically and pats my aching knee. "He's going to find out sooner or later, you know."

I nod and turn to stare out the window. Everything about my body suddenly hurts, and from the little I can see of my reflection, my face hasn't fared much better. It doesn't matter much, though. All the bruises and cuts and scrapes will go away soon. Having to face Uncle Ian will be much more painful. And only one thing could possibly be worse than doing that.

Having to face his disappointment.

xXxXx

_Hurrah! An update at last. _

_I've been insurmountably busy as of late, so updates are slow, and with my infamously long chapters, writing anything takes double the time. In full truth, I was actually intending to keep chapters in this story rather short (in comparison to WKMTC), although so far, I haven't succeeded very well. Something about this one was rather complicated, even though there wasn't much action, and cutting or skipping over anything just seemed wrong. Ah, well. As best I can I will try my hardest to keep the others shorter. I just couldn't find any good cut off point for this particular chapter. _

_And as you can see, this is merely the beginning, which means plenty of intros and setting the scenery for all, especially since this is an OC story. Not the most exciting chapter, no doubt, but the next will be sure to introduce the "Great" Uncle Ian. And after that, the pace will begin to pick up a little. I've also made Michelle very bright, as I'm sure you can tell, but still kept her rather innocent and naive, hence the tea party and princess dresses. Her friends, quite obviously, are also your "stereotypical" rich kids, although I have my reasons. {Oh, and for the record, I purposely misspelled certain words, as well as call Jane Austen "Jane Eyre." I barely know any adults who can spell ostentatious; I doubt a nine-year-old could} _

_In any case, I must update WKMTC before I can get to the next one of this, but I'll try my hardest to work on both, since I'm already in the writing mood for this one. We'll see how soon I can update. _

_As always, reviews are welcome. And thank you very much for reading. :) _


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